


Drive My Car

by BoxWineConfessions



Series: JJBek Week 2017 [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Loss of Virginity, M/M, Rough Sex, on a racecar bed, sweaty naked wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: Jean thinks he’s gonna drive. Jean always thinks he’s gonna drive. When he finally gets the engine to turn over on the rusted out Kawasaki he found in the Leroy’s junk pile, Jean thought he was going to drive. When they both went for their drivers’ tests and Mr. Leroy tossed them the keys to the cherished 1989 Toyota Tercel, Jean thought he was driving.  That just isn’t how it works with the two of them.OR: JJ and Otabek fuck in JJ's racecar bed. For JJBek week 2k17.





	Drive My Car

Jean thinks he’s gonna drive. Jean _always_ thinks he’s gonna drive. When Otabek finally gets the engine to turn over on the rusted out Kawasaki he found in the Leroy’s junk pile, Jean thought he was going to drive it first. When they both went for their drivers’ tests and Mr. Leroy tossed them the keys to the much coveted 1992 Toyota Tercel, Jean thought he was driving first.   

That just isn’t how it works with the two of them. Otabek caught the keys and Jean couldn't wrestle them away from him.

Now, it's just the same. Jean’s palming his ass through his pants and trying to roll them over. He’s got his leg draped over Otabek’s but Otabek holds firm. He takes just as much as Jean does, and meets him kiss for kiss, bite for bite, rut for rut.

It feels suffocating in Jean’s race car bed. The walled sides cage them in an already impossibly small space. They’re both still fully clothed, and he feels like he’s at war with his own body. The air conditioning is constantly cranked too low in the Leroy house, due to Mrs. Leroy’s constant and persistent hot flashes. Except, Jean’s body is scorching hot. His own clothes are suffocating. He feels damp, and warm, and fitful with need. Jean causes a fever for which there is no cure.

Jean rolls his clothed erection against Otabek’s and groans. No. They’re not doing this again. They’re going all the way. He didn’t shoplift the bottle of lube from the pharmacy just for Jean to come from dry humping.

Jean kisses him roughly and bites his lip. “We still going all the way Beka?”

“Yeah,” Otabek responds by wedging his knee between Jean’s legs. That always made him hump his leg as if he couldn’t control himself.

Jean does just as he anticipated. He presses his cock up against his leg and screws his eyes shut and rides it like it’s the real thing. It is the real thing to Jean, because he just doesn’t know any better. He hasn't had anything better. Otabek watches him with quiet amusement and rapt fascination.

Jean leverages Otabek's moment of quiet introspection. While Otabek is imagining how Jean’s going to look with his dick inside of him, Jean flips their positions so that he is on top. Jean rakes his hands down Otabek’s shirt.

He flashes a cocky grin, and plunges his hand underneath Otabek’s shirt. “Need me Beka?” He still doesn’t like it when Jean calls him that. He doesn’t understand that only his family uses that name. He says things like, “aren’t we family?” which he doesn’t particularly like disentangling statements like that considering they’ve been jerking each other off in Jean’s race car bed since his second night in Toronto.

“Yeah,” Otabek responds. He toys with the hem of Jean’s shirt for a moment and rakes his hands down his toned stomach. His hands move downward, straight for the button on his jeans. It seems like the best, and most effective way to fluster Jean. Except, his pants are tight and not easily undone, and it gives Jean a brief moment of lucid cockiness.

“Baby.” He says the word under his breath as if they don’t actually have the enormous house to themselves for the first time all summer. He grips the high sides of the bed, "lemme drive,” for this part his voice is louder, more confident, and of course he does that thing with his hands. Towering over him, and blocking out the harsh fluorescent light, he looks good. Real good. Mr. & Mrs. Altin almost had him deported when he cut Jean’s hair down in the basement at three in the morning. "Lemme take the wheel. Lemme pop the clutch and put you in gear." 

Otabek pops the button on his pants, and does his best to ignore the constant stream of words coming from his best friend's mouth. Once he gets going, he doesn't stop, and it's always best to let these things run their course. “Jean,” Otabek smirks at him. Take your clothes off.”

“Yes, clothes,” he laughs with the fake confidence he uses whenever he is flustered. “Right.”

As much as Otabek would like to tease, he bites his tongue. He sits up, and grabs the hem of Jean’s shirt and pulls it upward. Jean peels it the rest of the way off. Otabek tugs at his zipper, and unzips his pants tooth by tooth. Otabek pulls Jean’s cock out of his waistband, and shoves his pants and underwear as far down as they’ll go on him when he’s kneeling on the bed.

Jean’s cock is impressive, almost as big as his. Jean’s really good at lasting longer than he is. Jean is really good at using his fingers until he can come without so much as touching his cock. Otabek hasn’t been able to do that yet. That alone means that he should get to fuck Jean, right?

Otabek nuzzles the crease where thigh meets crotch and inhales Jean’s musky scent. “Lemme fuck you,” Otabek suggests. “I’ll blow you first.” 

“Babe,” Jean pushes him back down onto the bed and awkwardly tries to kiss him while he’s taking off his pants. It pisses Otabek off, because he didn’t spend three weeks in the backseat of the Toyota with Jean down at the park to be kissed like this.

Then again, it’s hard stay upset with Jean. Otabek kisses him through shucking off his pants. Then, he writhes out of his shirt. Then, Otabek goes for Jean’s flank. It’s his weak spot, he dives, but Jean flinches and deflects. Otabek ends up banging his head against the side of the stupid bed, which has a full sized decal of a red Porsche.

“Goddamnnit,” Otabek curses under his breath.

“Beka,” Jean’s eyes are wide, and glassy, the way he always looks when he’s upset. Although, knowing Jean he’s probably more upset that he took the lord’s name in vain than he is upset about hurting him.

Otabek waves his hand dismissively.

“You okay?” Jean pushes stray strands of hair out of his face, "want me to kiss it better?" Otabek uses the opportunity to pin Jean to the bed. Quickly, he moves down his body and gets his cock into his mouth. Jean gasps at the contact.

Otabek takes as much of him into his mouth as he can, just to get him wet. Then, just as quickly as he went down, he pulls off. He hollows his cheeks so that his lips make a loud smacking noise against the tip of Jean’s cock, because Jean’s a sucker for that kind of thing, “ never better.” Otabek breathes hot puffs of air onto the tip of Jean’s damp cock, and rubs the soft skin of his balls but doesn’t take him back in. “Gimme the lube.”

“Beka,” Jean whimpers. Jean never feels entitled to anything, quite the opposite. He never quite gets what he wants, and he knows it. Otabek _would_ feel bad about this, but….Jean kind of wants _this_ more. He can tell by way his voice cracks…He knows these things, because Jean is his best friend.

“You love fucking yourself with your fingers,” Otabek reasons. He leans upward to the night stand and reaches for the lube. Jean’s arms are longer, and were better suited for this. He slips over the side railing of the bed and falls onto Jean with an undignified _oof_.

Jean’s chest rumbles with laughter. Jean grabs the bottle and flips them over again. “You seemed to like doing it too,” and he slicks up his fingers. Otabek allows it. The only thing that’s more fun than kissing Jean, and teasing Jean, and making Jean come, is feeling his muscles glide against his. He likes pushing and being pushed around.  

Jean’s got one hand on his cock and then his fingers are on his ass. He presses one in, and Otabek hisses at the contact. He’s _done it_ before, because Jean went on and on about how good it felt. He doesn’t do it every night like Jean does. “Yeah, but I don’t use hair brush handles.” Otabek grits his teeth. Sensing his discomfort, Jean toys with his cock, nudging it from side to side in his hand.

“You pinky swore you wouldn’t bring that up again!” Jean whines. Otabek turns, so that Jean’s wedged up against the side of the bed. Jean’s fingers slide out, and Otabek gets back on top. Otabek pours lube without looking. Most of it ends up on his cock, some on Jean’s. He presses some against his hole, shoves Jean’s legs to his chest, and slides in.

He knows that Jean stretched himself out this morning, because he complained once again that his sister’s cucumber lotion made him smell like a girl. So, Otabek showed him the boosted lube with a grin. “Ah-Damn Otabek.”

“Better than a hairbrush?” Otabek doesn’t let him respond. Jean is both momentarily silent and paralyzed as he pushes in deeper, and deeper, and Jean pushes back despite the fact that he screws his eyes shut, and sweat rolls down his brow. Otabek starts out kissing Jean’s neck, then sucks against the skin. Finally he’s biting, rough and sharp, and Jean’s rutting back against his cock begging him to move.

Jean’s eyelashes are long. It’s dangerous for a man to have eyelashes that long. The kind of gaze that’s given through pretty and full eyelashes make a man do stupid, stupid things. Jean’s eyes flutter open, and it’s difficult for Otabek to not become lost in trying to read himself in those eyes of blue. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth, and for a moment, all he does is pant at Otabek in short breathy little moans. “You’re such an asshole Beka,” and then his drunken look melts into a sloppy grin.

Jean loops his leg around Otabek at the place where his knees are bent. Jean grunts when he pulls off of Otabek’s cock. He pushes them both so that they’re laying on their sides. Jean is sloppy, and slow. If Otabek were completely opposed to the idea, Otabek would’ve never let it happen. Except, there’s something in the way that Jean moans, and pants, and wants. Otabek always wants whatever it is that Jean has, and this stupidly applies to the pleasure that he himself brings to Jean.

Then, they simply tussle against one another, scrambling for purchase on any part of the other’s body that they can get. Jean digs his fingers into Otabek’s bicep. Otabek grabs for Jean’s ass. Jean plays dirty and tweaks a nipple, so Otabek spanks Jean’s ass with a loud sharp _crack._

In the movies, you’re not supposed to have sex like this. You kiss, you touch dicks maybe, one person gets fucked, and the other fucks. He likes this better. Cause inevitably, he always turns over the keys to the Kawasaki. He always throws the Tercel in park at a red light and clambers out of the car and demand that Jean drive. He always laughs and laughs when Jean struggles to get it out of park at the light, his feet slip on the clutch and he swears underneath his breath. Sometimes he even says, “goddamn.”

Jean gets him on his stomach, spreads his cheeks wide, and spits on his asshole. He pokes at him with his fingers, like they’re boyfriends making love. He doesn’t need Jean treating him this way, “just do it Leroy.” To emphasize his point, he cants his hips upward pushing his ass towards Jean.

“I’m a gentleman Beka.” Jean responds with a heavy hand on the small of his back holding him into place. He works in one finger, and then another.

Otabek is quickly growing bored of the situation, and ready to flip Jean back over with each passing second. “Do you think that just saying that makes it so?”

“No.” Jean admits, and ruts his cock into the cleft of Otabek’s ass. He searches or the lube among the sheets and curses under his breath. “It spilled.”

“We’ll do laundry then,” Otabek huffs.

“I’m a gentleman because act like one,” Jean insists. He pours more lube onto the crack of Otabek’s ass and onto his own cock. Then, after far too long, Jean finally thrusts inside.

Now that Otabek has what he wants, he finds this infuriating too. Jean thrusts in slowly, so that he can feel each and every inch of his cock. Instead of a blinding hot pain that he can buck, kick, and bite his way through, he’s left with a maddening slow burn that makes him tense every single muscle in his body, and hold onto the sheets for dear life.

“Relax Beka,” and Jean’s cooing softly into his ear like he’s his baby brother, or one of the kids down at the Boys and Girls club. Each movement is friction against friction as Jean humps into him and Otabek humps into the black and white checkered sheets which are spread across the bed.

After what feels like an eternity, Jean finally gets rhythm going, thrusting in and out, each time makes a loud squelch-slap sound that makes him push up against Jean in frustration. His cock strains against the sheets leaving a large sticky patch of fabric, and as much as he ruts and as much as he pushes it’s just not enough.

So, Otabek turns them over once again. Jean groans as Otabek crawls upwards towards the headboard of the bed, dislodging his cock. Otabek turns, and looks Jean up and down with a predatory look in his eyes. He’s going to eat the boy alive, because that’s what boys like Jean deserves.

He lunges at Jean, and he barely has time to cradle Jean’s head from smacking against the foot board of the bed. The sheets pop off the corners, and their bodies are half draped across a wadded mess of sheets at the bottom of the bed, and the nylon mattress which catches underneath the slightest of touches.

Jean pinches his ass hard enough to leave marks, but spreads his legs wide for Otabek.

Jean’s such a slut for his cock.  It doesn’t matter that he probably needs more lube, his eyes roll back in his head as soon as he fucks into him. Otabek threads his hands into the longer part of Jean’s hair. “You never answered me. If this was better than jerking off alone, or with a brush handle.”

“So much better,” Jean responds. “You’re really fucking big.”

Otabek slides almost all the way out and slams back in. He watches as his actions affect almost every part of Jean. His eyes go wide, his jaw slack. His chest rises in shock, his muscles tense up, and he grinds his cock into Otabek’s stomach.

“Hit the spot?” He ask without really knowing what he’s talking about. It felt good when Jean was fucking him, but he’s seen Jean come on just his fingers, without touching his dick at all.

“So good,” Jean says, in a string of incoherent words of praise. His eyes are covered by the crook of his elbow, and when he’s done spewing filth and tenderness at Otabek, “dick feels so-oh-good Beka,” he uncovers his eyes and shoots him a wink that is criminal in most countries. To it he adds, “Baby,” except the syllables come out long and distorted, “bay-bee.”

It makes Otabek’s cock ache in the worst kind of way, and before he knows what’s going on, before he can take Jean’s cock into his hands and wring an orgasm out of him, his cock is twitching deep within Jean. Jean is too hot and too tight and too wet for his own good. He can feel himself pulse, and he can feel himself empty.

He can hear Jean below him laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world. He can feel Jean’s chest rattle with laughter. Then of course, Jean’s pressing his luck, “you should sit on mine.” 

Otabek scoffs. Fat chance. Not when he’s just come in Jean’s ass and he’s riding that high. He lets Jean push him over again and fuck into him again. It’s too much too soon, and every movement that Jean makes is somewhere between wonderful and painful. His cock aches again already, although it’s flaccid and soft and unable to be called to full attention. Otabek hates the feeling of being pounded into without the delicious ache of an impending orgasm, but he loves the way that Jean moans into his ear and bites against the lobe, and overwhelms him with his bigger, stronger, more muscular body.

“Beka,” Jean purrs as he pounds into him. “Gonna…”

“Just do it,” they don’t need to talk about it.

So Jean does. He’s got his hands fisted into Otabek’s hair, and he’s kissing him with too much tongue. His cock pulses deep inside of him, but Jean doesn’t pull out right away. He stays buried inside Otabek for as long as possible, saying all kinds of things that only kind of, sort of, almost make sense.

When he finally pulls out Jean makes no effort to clean them up. He simply lays his head on Otabek’s chest and shoots him this soft doughy expression that sends chills down his spine.

Otabek rakes his short clipped nails down the shaved part of Jean’s undercut. He continues scratching down his neck, and his shoulders. He desperately ties to ignore the soft little contented noises that Jean makes in response.

Otabek always thought that he’d get to drive the way that he wanted, wild and reckless. Except, it was always Jean that was revving the engine at the stop lights, making them both look like idiots driving his father’s sedan. It was Jean that jumped too high on the dirt bike, and came crashing down onto the dirt, making the shocks beg for mercy. Jean tugged him every which way, and him feel confused in ways that he didn’t understand. How could one person be his best friend, and his biggest nuisance, and look at him like that all at the same time? The answer was simple. Jean drove. Always has.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: boxwineconfession.tumblr.com  
> Twitter: @confessionwine.


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